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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738936">don't need a fireplace (i'll be the flame)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/feymoonie113/pseuds/feymoonie113'>feymoonie113</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>minbin royalty au [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bathing/Washing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hair Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, changbin goes a bit nonverbal at times, like blink and you'll miss it but i wanted to tag for it just in case, very light d/s themes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:20:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25738936</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/feymoonie113/pseuds/feymoonie113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The cloth dropped back into the bowl with a splash, another wet hand coming up to frame the prince’s face. “I will not let you dismiss my prince like that.”</p><p>Shivers to rival the chill of damp linen on bruised skin shook through Changbin at the words. My prince. </p><p>Minho rarely referred to him formally in private, uncaring of the difference in their status in the same pointedly careless way he did everything. That had been what drew Changbin to him when he first came to work at the palace with his uncle, had been the thing he admired the most about him and the reason he fought so little against his parents who told him that this strange outspoken boy was to be his new companion, though Changbin, in turn, rarely told him as much.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>minbin royalty au [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>142</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>don't need a fireplace (i'll be the flame)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just a note, the d/s stuff is Very slight, but that kind of dynamic may not be for everyone, so I tagged for it. If it /is/ something you like, then enjoy! &lt;3</p><p>Edit: just updated the tags bc they were kinda bothering me and made this part of a series, story is still the same!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They were silent as they walked back to the prince's chambers. </p><p>Underneath the blows and bruises already formed by the stress weighing him down, the sting of defeat hurt more, humiliation reaching below the skin to erode at what was left of his ego with the memory of his parents’ faces as they realized that he was losing yet another battle. The ache in his muscles paled to the growing chasm in his chest.</p><p><em>What good was a prince that could not fight? Who couldn’t be trusted to lead his people to victory?</em> </p><p>It was no secret that his sister was the one being groomed for the throne—her right by age, proved further by her seamless leadership—but he had hoped that he could one day fulfill the role that <em>he</em> had been born into with the same confidence and skill. </p><p>The sturdy expression he wore as they treaded back to his corner of the palace fell as soon as the chamber doors closed. With a sigh that almost emptied his lungs, he collapsed against the strong oak  doors, allowing his head to finally drop, chin to his chest. The weight pressing him in from all sides shook his next inhale, the sound of his broken breath acting as the last pebble thrown at his shattering mentality, shards of shame triggering his eyes to well up and overflow.</p><p>He could see Minho watching him from further in the room, not saying a word, as he had been the entire walk, but he paid him no mind. Throughout all their years together, Minho had seen every one of his unflattering sides, more so than his own family had—there was no harm in him seeing Changbin weep into his dirtied armor. </p><p>The drag of metal against wood sounded as he slid down the door to sit on the stone floor with a clang. The cold shock on his sore legs grounded him momentarily, though it didn’t stop his tears. Furiously, he rubbed at his face and hair, pushing his palms into his eyes and dropping the helmet that had been precariously grasped in his fingers since removing it to address the onlookers, giving a conceding bow to his opponent and his parents in turn. Rough gloves and salty tears chafed at his sensitive skin with the frustration that swelled in him—frustration with himself, with his performance, with the memory of hundreds of faces blinding him harder than the sun in his eyes as their disappointment shone through. </p><p>“Stop that. You’re going to get dirt in your cuts.” </p><p>Changbin felt the absence of the helmet beside him before stern, but gentle hands pulled his own away from their grip in his hair. He blinked up at Minho as he combed through the freed strands in a futile attempt to organize them, yielding easily as his friend pulled him up off the ground. Words felt too difficult for him at that moment, and he was grateful that Minho didn’t seem to expect him to talk.</p><p>As if in a daze, Changbin stood, pliable, in the unfamiliarity of his own room as Minho undressed him, undoing the knots holding his armor in place, removing padding, and unfurling clenched fists to slide off his gloves. Minho paused after placing the gloves on the side table, looking Changbin steadily in the face until glazed eyes focused on him. </p><p>His work-calloused thumbs were rough as they stroked the back of his hands, but his lips were soft. A trail of warmth across his knuckles became the epicenter of a comforting heat that rolled through Changbin, thawing the invading cold that had frozen his tongue.</p><p>“How many of these do I have to lose before they stop pretending that I can be a prince?” It was hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice, until he realized that, here, with his closest friend, there was no reason to remain diplomatic. </p><p>Minho looked unamused at his tone, raising an eyebrow. “You are a prince. Or have you forgotten that most non-royals don’t have their very own manservants to undress them while they whine? </p><p>He was born into the royal family, yes, but being crowned with an official title was a privilege. </p><p>At 19, he should have no fears about receiving it, but public opinion had started to sway him, the rumors that he heard around corners of his hopelessness digging a well into the confidence he had only started to gain as he left his childhood fears, filling him up with a dread whenever he was called to prove himself.</p><p>“I can’t fight, can’t lead soldiers. I may not be in line for the throne—thank God—but I can’t even act as general, as a crown prince <em>should</em>.” There must be burns on the sides of his face at this point, he thought, cheeks, already ruddy with bits of gravel and dried blood, now searing with a passionate flush.</p><p>Cold shocked him silent for a second time. Minho gripped the back of Changbin’s neck as he startled back at the sensation of water dripping down his front, sticking the thin linen shirt he’d been left with to his skin. A partially hidden bowl sat besides the discarded garments on the side table, and a soaked cloth traveled across his exposed collarbones. </p><p>“There is more to being a leader than being able to hit someone with a sword,” Minho bit out, the tenseness in his voice contrasting with his soft touch as he swiped away the first layer of sweat and grime that coated Changbin. Flipping over a fresh corner, he tilted Changbin’s head up to, untangling their forgotten hands to grasp his chin. The roughed pads of his fingers were softened by the water, but held him so firmly that Changbin knew that this was a genuine upset. </p><p>Minho aimed harsh eyes at him as he cleaned the smeared blood that had pulled Changbin’s face taut as it dried. “You are a brilliant artist. Your poems are as revered as the son of the court bard's. You have the sharpest tongue and wit out of anyone else I know, besides myself.”</p><p>“Of course,” Changbin couldn’t help but cut in. The responding glare hushed him.</p><p>The cloth dropped back into the bowl with a splash, another wet hand coming up to frame the prince’s face. “I will not let you dismiss my prince like that.”</p><p>Shivers to rival the chill of damp linen on bruised skin shook through Changbin at the words. <em>My prince</em>. </p><p>Minho rarely referred to him formally in private, uncaring of the difference in their status in the same pointedly careless way he did everything. That had been what drew Changbin to him when he first came to work at the palace with his uncle, had been the thing he admired the most about him and the reason he fought so little against his parents who told him that this strange outspoken boy was to be his new companion, though Changbin, in turn, rarely told him as much.</p><p>“Your prince could stand to be more princelike,” he whispered, words spilling out fast in an odd attempt to deflect the unnerving tension. “I mean, he’s not exactly a Hyunjin or a Chan, is he? Just some short, unhandsome child with no power behind his glare.” </p><p>Fingers tightened on his chin then vanished. Minho pulled away with a pinched expression like he'd gotten caught in a tide pool, leaving Changbin grasping at air as he marched across the room to the wardrobe. He flinched as the panel doors slid open with a bang, worrying briefly for the wellbeing of the flowers and hummingbirds entangled in their delicate painted foliage. Then stiffened again when Minho abruptly turned around, loose sleeping clothes crumpled vindictively in his hands. </p><p>Like he was well aware that he couldn't harm Changbin himself. Couldn't twist his arm and force him to overcome his shortcomings and fears. Couldn't wrinkle him up and stretch him out, smooth him over proud shoulders after a steaming and make him pristine and confident again.</p><p>The clothes were tossed carelessly besides the bowl, spots soaking through where water had pooled on the table. Another small discomfort, dressing Changbin in damp pajamas.</p><p>"I see the power behind your eyes." Minho grabbed him again by the chin, still mindful of his bruises, forcing Changbin's gaze to meet his fiery one. "I have seen you grow into it, <em>it is there</em>."</p><p>A burn built in the back of Changbin's throat, rolling across his skin and stinging his eyes. He stood frozen in the intensity of Minho's full attention except for his hands, which fumbled in the space between them to clutch at the rougher linen the older boy wore, weakly tugging him nearer, closer. Minho denied him for a moment, roughly pulling his head up when Changbin peeked down to find a better grip with his eyes, ripping a half broken sob out the prince. </p><p>"Please," Changbin wasn't sure what he was asking for exactly, clouded by the fear of having made the person he held dear angry with him, feeling the distance despite their points of contact, as wide and lonely as the space that had stood between him and the spectators. His voice cracked as he pleaded again. "Minho, please."</p><p>As he always seemed to do, Minho knew what Changbin wanted. The tight hold on his face loosened, sliding up behind his head to grip at Changbin's matted hair, at which he sighed. A small step forward and Minho nudged him against the side table, pushing him up to sit on the edge and kicking Changbin's feet out to stand inside them. His perch brought Changbin completely level with Minho's height, and it was easy to relax into him when he finally pushed their foreheads together.</p><p>Warm air fanned over Changbin's aching face as their breath mingled in the sliver of space between them. Minho's hand clenched occasionally in his hair, tightening the strands to a dull pressure, so Changbin's hands gripped harder at his waist. There was the urge to press harder, until it was painful, until Minho could feel a fraction of weightlessness that was starting to settle in along Changbin's bones. How heavy they were minutes ago, now buoyed by the hard press of skin against skin, blown up by the echo of another person's heartbeat.</p><p>The dangle of his legs over the table made Changbin feel like he was floating, so he kicked off his boots and, ignoring Minho's grunt, wrapped them around him, using them as leverage to get him even closer. He wanted Minho beneath his skin, stitched in so deep that he would cover Changbin's heart and mind like a blanket, veiling the light of the next day's sunrise, the lonely future waiting for him there, and the memory of faces taunting him from the stands, lining the walls of his brain like the family portraits he walked past after his defeat.</p><p>Past the fog in his head, he could hear a shushing noise, following the trail of sound until he broke through and realized that it was Minho, soothing a Changbin who hadn't even realized he had been crying, so lost in his thoughts that he was unaware of his own ragged breathing and the bitter slide of tears pouring down, stinging his cheeks as they slid into fresh cuts.</p><p>Changbin gasped in, releasing one hand from his serpent's hold to rub away the tears, only succeeded in making the burn stronger. Minho pushed his hand away gently, tsking at the irritation before using the still damp cloth to wipe his face clean once again.</p><p>"What did I say about rubbing your wounds?" He scolded softly. </p><p>"I'm sorry." <em>For the cuts, for disappointing you, for disappointing everyone.</em> Changbin whispered out another grated sob, dropping his head to fall heavily on Minho's shoulder, pushing into his neck. "I'm sorry."</p><p>He heard and felt Minho swallow thickly, his voice pinched as he replied. "<em>You</em> have nothing to be sorry about, Changbin." </p><p>Changbin sighed, voice spent. "Please, I don't—my name—"</p><p>Minho turned his head, and the next thing Changbin felt was a pressure on the side of his head that left as quick as it came, then reappeared an inch to the left. The pressure dotted down his hair until it reached the edge of his ear, and he could finally feel the soft press of Minho's lips on his skin.</p><p>Brushing a barely-there kiss with every word, Minho whispered it again. "You have nothing to be sorry for, my prince."</p><p>A whine broke through Changbin's chapped lips, and he nuzzled deeper into the long column of Minho's throat, pressing clumsy kisses there in return, releasing a shaky laugh from his manservant.</p><p>"Come on." Minho said. "I think you've tired enough of this day."</p><p>He hitched Changbin's legs up higher on his waist and heaved him up, kicking his discarded boots out of the way to carry him to the large bed further in the room. He deposited him carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful of the still dirtied clothes he'd worn beneath his armor. </p><p>Changbin whined when he tried to retreat, grasping at the hem of his sleeve. Minho huffed out another laugh. "I have to let go of you to ready your bath." He maneuvered his arm to tangle their hands together instead. </p><p>"I don't need a bath." </p><p>Minho snorted. "Believe me, my prince, you do."</p><p>Changbin fought against the shiver that those words always ran through him, and pouted. "I just need you." He confessed, quietly, forcing his words to sound sure.</p><p>Fondness permeated through Minho's expression, and before Changbin could react, he swooped down to press another, harder kiss to the top of his head, saying, "You will have me," before standing straight again and curling his lips up. "After your bath."</p><p>Changbin swiped at him with his other hand, huffing as he dodged easily, detangling their hands and moving to heat more water in a kettle to warm the cooled tub in the corner of the room that had been prepared earlier. He fought the urge to flop over on his bed after being abandoned, resisting against a nth scolding as he watched Minho flit around the room, retrieving his soaps and towels and combs.</p><p>The sight of all the supplies reminded Changbin of how much he enjoyed an actual bath, how long it had been since Minho had broken out all the oils and scents, and he was more settled when his manservant retrieved him, taking him by the hands and leading him the short way, though it was unnecessary. As Minho set about removing his underclothes, a spark of familiar shame flamed in him. He had been bare in front of Minho countless times before, but the image of the visiting noble who exposed his weaknesses a mere hour or two prior, the towering sight of his strength and sculpted form, had his arms reaching across his torso, shoulders hunching in.</p><p>"Stop it." Minho wrenched his arms back to his sides, rubbing his hands comfortingly up and down them, letting them travel over his flank and across his sternum, sliding up to grip the sides of his neck, thumbs resting on Changbin's racing pulse. "Your body is your own, and it is <em>perfect</em>."</p><p>Changbin chewed on his bottom lip instead of replying, and Minho didn't push him further, simply stepped back to let him climb into the tub, holding his exhausted body steady as he lowered himself down into the water sloshing with his clumsy steps. </p><p>The water wasn't as hot as Changbin usually liked it, but he didn't know how long he had sat, floating and sobbing into Minho's shoulder. He wasn't sure that he wanted to ask.</p><p>Minho let him soak into the warmth for a moment, before grabbing the same washcloth he used to wipe Changbin down before, dipping it into the soapy water and dragging it across his skin, repeating the motion as he scrubbed the remaining sweat and grime away. Changbin allowed himself to melt under his hands, under his gaze, under the faint scent perfuming out from the steam, as sweet as the rolling heat from the fire Minho had stoked to heat the kettle. He obeyed wordlessly when Minho asked for his arms and legs, no energy to take over halfway like he usually would. His head lolled when Minho combed through his hair, first dislodging clumps of dirt and wood chips with his hands, then massaging the soap in gently, lulling Changbin half to sleep before he stood him up to pour another warm bucket over him, washing the residue and day away.</p><p>Changbin swayed slightly in the tub, dripping and shivering until Minho draped a robe around him, leading him on shaky legs to sit again on his bed as he dried his hair. </p><p>"Have you fallen asleep, yet, darling?" Minho chuckled at Changbin as he blinked up at him slowly, words struggling to register after so much silence. <em>What did he call him?</em></p><p>"Like that," Changbin mumbled, sleepily, "Say it again?"</p><p>"What? Darling?" </p><p>A low keen answered him as Changbin nuzzled forward into his stomach. Minho chuckled, ruffling his hair. "You like it more than 'my prince'?" He teased.</p><p>Changbin shook his head then paused, started to nod and stopped again. Giving a frustrated huff, he looked up again at Minho's amused expression. "Like both."</p><p>"Should I combine them, then? How does 'my darling prince' sound?" He laughed loudly this time, when Changbin let out a longer whine and slumped into his waist, wrapping his arms around and hugging him tight. </p><p>They stood like that for a long moment, tracing doodles and meaningless messages onto arms and shoulders and sides. Minho sighed eventually, running his hand one last time through Changbin's now fluffy hair, dropping another kiss on it before pulling away. "Arms out, sweetheart."</p><p>He disrobed and redressed Changbin in his sleep clothes quickly, nudging him over to untuck his blankets. Only when he tried to lay Changbin down did he resist.</p><p>"You, too." He insisted, tugging on his sleeve.</p><p>Minho hesitated, glancing at the doors to the chamber. Changbin could practically envision the guards that were sure to be standing on the other side of them. </p><p>"No one besides you would come in without warning or sound." Minho didn't budge. "Please." Changbin didn't think he'd said that word so much to Minho ever, but he knew his absence would never allow Changbin to sleep tonight, not with the thoughts edging close on the frays of his consciousness, ready to replay his embarrassment over and over the moment his one comfort left him. He tugged on him again, forcing him to focus his eyes on <em>him</em>. "Just this night."</p><p>Minho's gaze never dropped from him as he began to slip off his dirtied plain clothes. He replied bluntly when Changbin's eyes widened in surprise. "I'd rather not dig through your wardrobe to find another sleeping set." </p><p>He climbed swiftly into the warmth of the blankets and his body, lying on his side facing him, close enough to share a pillow, to share a breath. Changbin slung a leg over him, shuffling into welcoming arms and inhaling the scent of his skin, slightly marred next to the still cloying perfume that clung to Changbin and his bed, but strong against his worries.</p><p>"Will you be here in the morning?" Changbin regretted asking as soon as the words left him, bracing himself against a sure refusal.</p><p>Minho stroked his back. "I will be here as long as you need me, however I can."</p><p>There was a twist in those words, Changbin could tell—not a straight denial, but the warning of a cold bed when he awoke tomorrow that made him clutch tighter, press his lips against the delicate collar bones beneath his cheek.</p><p>"I'll take that as a promise." He whispered into his chest, half asleep.</p><p>As he began to drift, he felt his head being lifted and a light brush cross his lips that he pressed into with his last strands of consciousness, sliding back down to settle again, slipping off to an unbothered sleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, like, I'm pretty sure I said I was gonna try to post often in the notes of my last fic, which was almost a year ago........</p><p>Anyways! I hope you enjoyed this, I don't know much about actual royalty, but I love minbin, and I'm a sucker for this kind of dynamic, thus, this was born. The idea to do a minbin royalty/nobility au actually came months before I first started writing this (which was months before I finished it lol), so this may turn into a series at some point. I promise the other members will be more present than a 0.2 sec mention in that, should it exist.</p><p>Please leave a kudos and/or comment if you liked it!! I'm still not super confident about posting, and any feedback makes my day &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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